An IMAX Special, Survivor Middle Earth!
by Mithostwen
Summary: The LOTR characters are all paired up in tribes with as much conflict as I could get, and now YOU get to watch what happpens! I know there's already a few of these out there, but PLEASE READ!
1. Episode 1: Introduction

An IMAX Special: Survivor Middle-earth  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely Middle-earth-ish or Survivor- ish. The new host is mine, the stupid boat is mine, and the boat-driving guy with no life is mine. Don't I sound so proud? The general idea isn't even mine, since I stole it from about three other people who already wrote Survivor Middle-earth stories, but I beg you on hands and knees not to be mad at me.  
  
Random Note: Just so you know, this isn't meant to be a masterpiece. You'll probably figure that out pretty soon anyway. It's just really fun to write and hopefully funny to read. Don't give up on it too soon. It gets better the dumb beginning, which I wrote several months ago. It's currently almost a hundred sides of notebook paper long, and still not done, but if the length is going to scare you away, forget I said that. Also, I paired up the tribes in a completely not-random way to get as much conflict as possible (wa ha ha ha!), despite what Jessica says later in the intro. Also, it's based on both the books and the movies.  
  
~*~  
  
Episode 1: Introduction  
  
The camera zooms over Middle-earth, apparently filming from a helicopter. They hit some turbulence over the Misty Mountains, making everyone watching on the IMAX screens want to puke. This was professional filming?  
  
Finally, the scene shifts to another camera over the Dead Marshes, the tiny "candles" of the dead glowing like orange stars in the bleak, murky, icky landscape. These shots of random locations go on for another twenty agonizing minutes. After all, this is what IMAX photographers seem to live for. Fortunately, the people watching are extremely dedicated Lord of the Rings and Survivor fans.  
  
At long last, you can see a motorboat on the shores of Mithlond, looking at least totally out of place. The cameras zoom in on the eighteen people aboard. One is an old boat-driving guy with no life. Another is the new hostess, Jessica, who's wearing a pink leather jacket and too much make-up. The rest of the passengers are the new survivors, who are all too familiar to the millions of Lord of the Rings addicts with their eyes glued to the screen.  
  
"Hey, everyone! Welcome to Middle-earth! I'm your new hostess, Jessica!" she squeals, batting her eyelashes. The audience can't help wondering how she of all people got this job. "We have now arrived in... well, who cares where? I'm sure everyone is as pumped to be here as me!!!"  
  
She waits for their response, but all she gets are incredulous stares. Finally Pippin yells "Yeah!" just so she'll move on.  
  
"I will now announce our RANDOMLY selected tribes! Ready? Here we go! The first tribe is the Alcarinque tribe. It means 'the glorious', and the following peeps I call off will need to get a blue buff from me! Okie dokie? Gollum, Frodo, Samwise, Boromir, Arwen, Witch-King, Eowyn, and Legolas!"  
  
Sam and Frodo cheer, but no one else in their tribe seems thrilled. The Witch-King glares daggers at Eowyn, who smirks but can't help looking nervous. Both she and Arwen try to hide their disappointment at not being in Aragorn's tribe. They fail miserably.  
"Your camp will be in Mordor," Jessica tells them, "and since I understand that's really really really far from here, you may start walking now."  
  
"Walking!?" Boromir cries. "That's madness! It will take a year! It's clear across the world!"  
  
"Hey, dude, chill! I didn't pick your sites," she replies defensively, combing her perfect blonde hair with her perfectly manicured fingers. "Feel free to stop along the way. Anyhow, the next tribe is the Tier-firn tribe! It means 'road-kill'! Sweet, huh? Everybody left, which is Meriadoc, Peregrin, Gandalf, Saruman, Galadriel, Aragorn, Gimli, and Treebeard, gets a pink frilly buff I designed myself!"  
  
The Tier-firns groan at the sight of their buffs, but Gimli perks up when he notices that Galadriel is on his tribe. Since Aragorn gets along with too many people to take them all away, he gets pretty lucky, though the whole Gandalf-Saruman combination can't be good.  
  
"I refuse to take anything so stupid-looking!" Saruman objects loudly, crossing his arms and frowning. "What do I even do with it?"  
  
"You soooooo need a fashion lesson! These are buffs! Hello! You were them on you head! Like duh!"  
  
Everyone in the Alcarinque tribe quickly ties them on their heads, having been wondering the same thing. Only Arwen gets it on the right way.  
  
After about five minutes of standing there, and just as the cameraman is about to call for a commercial break, Aragorn steps forward and takes a pink buff, despite the frilly lace, smiley hearts, and white zig-zags. He turns back to his team after clumsily tying it on his head. He nods, and they step forward one by one. If the King of Gondor and Arnor was willing to humiliate himself with that stupid thing, why shouldn't they?  
  
"Super! You all look so CUTE! Your camp will be in Moria! How lucky! What a pretty name, huh?"  
  
Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Aragorn, and Gimli stare at her like electrocuted fishes.  
  
"We can't go there!" Pippin protests.  
  
"Last time we almost died!" Merry adds.  
  
"Speak for yourselves," Gandalf mutters. "Thanks to a certain Dwarf, I did die. You're lucky I came back to life."  
  
"I'm not! I hate you!" Saruman raves at the White Wizard. "You ruined my life!"  
  
"And it's not my fault all of the Dwarves were dead!" Gimli argues. "I thought-"  
  
"Chill, guys. It's the past, okay? I want all of you to have a nice group hug and forgive each other!" Jessica orders them before flashing her perfectly white teeth in a sunny smile.  
  
"HUG GANDALF!?" Saruman bellows. "And all my worst enemies!? That Ent destroyed everything I had! AND I HATE HALFLINGS!"  
  
Merry and Pippin shrink back and hide behind Treebeard.  
  
"Right, uh..." Jessica begins, finally figuring out that Saruman isn't someone you want to mess with. "You may now head to your camps! Happy trails! Namarie! Oh, Elf-ese is so fun to use!" She blows a kiss at both tribes and starts waving before they even start to leave.  
  
"That was Quenya, not Elf-ese that you were speaking," Legolas informs her as he walks by.  
  
"Whatever, hottie," she replies. The Elven prince abruptly stops and glares at her. The camera zooms way in on his icy blue eyes, then back out.  
  
WHAM! He does an awesome spinning kick and knocks the hostess off her pink high-heels. All the obsessed Leggy-fangirls and Jessica-haters in the audience cheer hysterically.  
  
Jessica gets to her feet and fixes her hair nervously.  
  
"Well, I guess that concludes our first episode!" she squeals in obviously fake delight. "Buh-bye!"  
  
~*~ 


	2. Episode 2: Alcarinque Day 1

Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own anything Tolkien made up, but I have effectively taken over Middle-earth for now. Doesn't that count for something? Also, no offense meant to blondes. I'm blonde too, although my hair is turning brown. Anyway, I'm sure you don't care, so let's move on.  
  
~*~  
  
Episode 2: Alcarinque Day 1  
  
The show starts with a close-up of Frodo as the words 'Frodo Baggins, Former Ring Bearer' appear in blue script on the bottom of the screen.  
  
"Yes, I'm excited to be here," he tells the camera, "but I know it won't be an easy game. Well, I guess it'll be easy compared to my last trip to Mordor. I can't believe I'm willingly going there again. Anyway, I'm glad Sam is on my tribe. He's good at encouraging me. I'm not so sure about the Dark Rider though. Every time he looks at me it feels like he's stabbing me all over again." Frodo shivers.  
  
The next scene is an interview with the Ringwraith. This camera crew either has a lot more guts than me, or they're just stupid. The screen reads, 'Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul'.  
  
"No, I'm not excited," he hisses in disgust in answer to the same question Frodo was asked. "I'm never excited. I'll only be excited if you let me stab that stupid lady from Rohan and her Halfling friend." He stares menacingly at the cameraman, who faints and knocks the camera over while it's still recording.  
  
Fortunately, there's another cameraman ready, and he films as Arwen comes to the rescue and revives the first cameraman. Eowyn stalks up the Witch- King and kicks him. (They aren't allowed to have weapons.)  
  
"Terrorizing innocent show-people? I almost didn't think you could stoop any lower than the lowest piece of sludge to haunt the earth."  
  
He grabs her by the throat with one armored hand and throws her as far as he can. The emergency security people jump on the undead monster and fail to wrestle him to the ground as Sam and Legolas run to help Eowyn up.  
  
There's a really long commercial break as they try to get the Witch-King under control, and not with a group hug either.  
  
Finally, Eowyn's face reappears on the screen. 'Lady Eowyn, Wife of Faramir of Gondor' appears in blue in the lower left corner. She scowls.  
  
"That is not my 'occupation'," she tells the audience. "These fools cannot get it right."  
  
"Stop it! Talk about something else!" someone off-screen whispers too loudly.  
  
"Alright. I'll talk about these cameramen," she "innocently" agrees, smiling obligingly. "They smell remarkably like dead-"  
  
The screen cuts instantly to Gollum as he slinks along grumpily through the impossibly bright green grass of the Shire, a little closer to Frodo's unguarded back than Sam would like. After all, Gollum had tried to kill "Nice Massster" before, and wound up biting Fordo's finger off.  
  
Eventually, Sam just walks backwards behind his friend, his eyes never leaving Gollum. Frodo finally notices after about five minutes.  
  
"Sam, don't worry about it. He already told me he won't try to kill me again," Frodo tells his former gardener / bodyguard, unaware of how stupid it sounded.  
  
"Why on earth do you still trust him after he snuck up on us, tried to take the Ring, attempted to strangle us, betrayed us, led us into Shelob's lair and almost got us killed again on purpose, attacked you on Mount Doom, bit your finger off, stole the Ring, threw our food off a cliff, turned you into an arachnophobiac, and was an overall evil pain in the neck, not to mention he's really ugly?" Sam asks incredulously, somehow all in one breath.  
  
"Oh, Sam, he never meant any of it," Frodo laughs, actually believing he's speaking the truth. Sam can only stare at him with his mouth hanging wide open. "He says death has changed him anyways. So don't bother him, alright?" Frodo claps his friend on the shoulder and keeps walking. At this point, Alcarinque has almost reached Bree. Not bad for one day.  
  
"You're seriously not right in the head," Sam can't help saying aloud, but his fellow hobbit doesn't hear. Gollum does, and gives Sam an evil grin as he slinks by. Sam decides to walk with Arwen, Eowyn, and Legolas, who are keeping their distance from the lord of the ringwraiths. Only Boromir is brave enough (or stupid enough. Who knows which?) to strike up a conversation with the Witch-King.  
  
After a few minutes, the Nazgul starts complaining about all the walking, and how it's not right for someone like him to have to endure such a waste of time that could be spent terrorizing Halflings.  
  
"Get over it," Eowyn orders him.  
  
"Welcome to OUR lives. I know at least Mr. Frodo, Boromir, Legolas, and I have had to travel on foot across Middle-earth before, and we're not even undead," you-can-probably-guess-who adds.  
  
"Boromir is," Frodo points out.  
  
"Yesss, preciousss," you-can-probably-guess-who's-talking-here-too agrees. "The fat hobbit is wrong again."  
  
"Oh, shut up," Sam snaps. "You're undead too."  
  
"Well, I agree with the Nazgul King," Boromir interjects.  
  
"That's only so he won't attack you," Arwen observes correctly.  
  
"No," Boromir protests, "I'm hungry, and we should let the hobbits rest." Arwen rolls her eyes, but is too polite and too busy missing Aragorn to say anything more.  
  
"We're fine," Frodo informs Boromir honestly. "I'm not tired at all. Carrying a burden like the Ring up a volcano wears you out. This is nothing."  
  
"Well... I... well," Boromir splutters as the Witch-King glares.  
  
"We should rest and search for something to eat," Arwen says unexpectedly. Boromir gives her a smile of relief that tells her she did the equivalent of saving his resurrected life by saving him from humiliation.  
  
The unlikely and disunified fellowship stops for a break, and the camera zooms out. It's heaved onto a helicopter which takes off and hovers above them, climbing steadily higher. This is sadly obvious to the audience even though the sound of the chopper's blades has been edited out. The Alcarinque tribe shrinks into the landscape as the helicopter climbs, and it becomes painfully obvious that they have a really really really really really really really long way to go.  
  
~*~ 


	3. Episode 3: Tierfirn Day 1

Disclaimer: Still the same. I own nothing that's any good in Middle- earth. Not even a speck of dirt. Do you have to write these on every chapter? It could get pretty boring. In fact, it already is. Boring boring boring! Sorry if you think I messed up Boromir's character (or anyone else's) but these guys are so easy to pick on!  
  
Random Note: Man, this story really is moving slow. That would kind of explain why I've already killed half a forest writing up to the point where two people have been voted off. Anyway, it doesn't stay this slow the whole time, and I hope you don't mind reading random conversations as they do nothing but walk for now. If you do, come back when I've posted a few more chapters and there are actually some challenges (episode 5 is the first challenge) and a major conflict caused by stupid Saruman. There's even a real battle sequence. Yes, in Survivor. I'll stop giving away the whole story now, and you can keep reading.  
  
~*~  
  
Episode 3: Tier-firn Day 1  
  
Since nobody could agree on a theme song, the show starts with another sweeping view of Middle-earth, which zeroes slowly in on the Tier- firn tribe. The're less than a football field's length away from Alcarinque, and they know it, but they're keeping their distance anyhow. None of them want to be thought of as traitors, although some of them have close friends on the other tribe. Too bad for them, because that's how I want it for now.  
  
"I'm hungry," complains a voice with an accent that sounds Scottish but obviously isn't, since this is Middle-earth. Merry elbows his friend, who immediately stops whining.  
  
"Well, there's something I've never heard from a hobbit before," Gimli remarks sarcastically. Aragorn rubs his forehead wearily but can't help smiling. It's their journey to Rivendell all over again.  
  
The screen cuts to an interview with Pippin.  
  
"Yes, I'm doing pretty well," he says. "It's fun to be on another adventure, especially one that doesn't involve certain death if we fail. I'm really hungry though. So far we've skipped lunch, afternoon tea, supper, and breakfast, and it's not because Aragorn doesn't know what those are this time."  
  
"You're still keeping track?" Merry cries incredulously from off-screen.  
  
"Of course. You of all people should know my life revolves around meals."  
  
The words 'Peregrin Took, Thain, Whatever That Means' pop up in pink bubble letters a little late.  
  
Saruman's surly, scowling old face appears next, along with 'Saruman, Demoted White Wizard Who Is Now Apparently Not Really A Wizard Anymore' in the same bubblegum-ish font.  
  
"Hey!" protests a voice no one recognizes since it belongs to the producer of the show. "Who wrote that?" The cameraman meekly raises his hand, although the audience obviously can't see him.  
  
"You're fired as occupation-writer!" the producer yells. "The only one you almost got right is 'Frodo Baggins, former something-or-other' and everyone knows that one!"  
  
The words vanish, but the camera remains fixed on Saruman. The crew try to resist the urge to point out the fact that the producer doesn't even know Frodo's occupation.  
  
"I refuse to speak," the demoted White Wizard who is now apparently not really a wizard anymore stubbornly announces, glaring at the camera.  
  
"Can I talk then?" asks some other crew guy, stepping in front of the camera.  
  
"No."  
  
"I just-"  
  
"No."  
  
"-wanted to know if I can-"  
  
"No."  
  
"-be occupation-writer. I'm good at making people sound cool."  
  
"Oh, all right. Now move out of the way," the producer snaps. The guy grins and instantly obeys as the view switches back to the whole tribe.  
  
"We need a leader," Pippin declares out of the blue.  
  
"No we don't," Merry corrects him loudly before whispering, "What are you doing, Pip? What if they choose Saruman?"  
  
"Then we vote the old coot off. Big deal," the hungry hobbit replies, shrugging it off. "Who votes that Gandalf should be our leader!?"  
  
Saruman, having been standing next to the two Halflings during their entire conversation, scowls and obviously doesn't raise his hand.  
  
Pippin, Aragorn, and Galadriel vote for Gandalf.  
  
"Hoom, hom. Don't be hasty," booms the Ent. (I don't know why I bother writing who says what in this story.)  
  
"I'm getting really tired of hearing those three words," Pippin tells Merry under his breath.  
  
"How about we come back to your vote in an hour or twelve?" Merry suggests. "Now who votes for Strider?"  
  
"Who's that?" Saruman asks grumpily.  
  
"Aragorn," Gimli clarifies.  
  
Gimli, Gandalf, and Merry raise their hands.  
  
"Oh, great, a tie," Gimli grumbles.  
  
"Saruman, you must choose," Galadriel says threateningly. She suddenly looks a whole lot scarier and a whole lot less pretty. She had never spoken until now, and everyone had almost forgotten her.  
  
"I hate every last one of you! If I'm not the leader, you-" he begins, but stops suddenly at the steely look in the Noldorin Elf's blue eyes.  
  
"Well, if we leave the tie-breaker to Treebeard, no offense, but we won't have a leader until the game is over," Pippin points out. "Who will vote for Lady Galadriel?"  
  
Six hands go up. The other two belong to Saruman and the thoughtful Ent.  
  
"You're going to be voted off first at this rate," Aragorn informs the grumpy old man.  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," is the reply.  
  
"Enough. We must keep going," the new leader tells her tribe.  
  
"I know how I'm going to travel," Merry laughs after taking one look at the vast stretch of land before them. He climbs up Treebeard's sturdy branches to his usual perch near the Ent's shoulder. Pippin isn't far behind on his way up to his spot above Treebeard's head.  
  
He mutters to himself in Entish, but smiles.  
  
"Not a bad idea." Gandalf lets out a long whistle, and a shining white horse gallops like the wind out of nowhere. Saruman gapes in jealousy at the lord of all horses, although I can't help wondering if Shadowfax has no life but to follow Gandalf around.  
  
"What are we supposed to ride?" Gimli complains.  
  
"Well," Gandalf begins, before Aragorn interrupts.  
  
"Why are you in such a hurry to get back to that tomb?"  
  
"Good point," Gimli agrees. "Let's stay here until we get some food. In Moria, we'd have to eat orcs."  
  
Everyone shudders at the thought, especially Merry and Pippin, who have seen enough of Saruman's Uruk-hai to last a Numenorean's lifetime.  
  
The Road-kill tribe stops to make camp. Aragorn appoints himself the task of getting a fire going, even though it's the middle of the afternoon and eighty degrees out. He gets a fire going within seconds, as Treebeard grumbles about killing innocent trees. Meanwhile, Galadriel goes off to search for edible plants nearby. Everyone else sits down, stomachs grumbling.  
  
No one complains about the decision to cut their already slow pace in half, of course. If they never reached their designated camp, it was all the better for them.  
  
~*~ 


	4. Episode 4: Alcarinque Day 2

Disclaimer: See me own nothing I didn't steal from Tolkien and Survivor. See me not care since this will never really be published. See me stop writing this disclaimer and skip to the story.  
  
Random Note: I see now that there are a bunch of other people who copied the first three to write a Survivor Middle-earth story. I'm not alone!! :- ) But like I mentioned before, I've been writing this for months and months, so it's not surprising. I currently have up to Episode 13 written, but I can't type that fast. ~*~  
  
Episode 4 : Alcarinque Day 2  
  
The breath-taking zoom over Middle-earth only lasts a couple seconds this time. You can tell the IMAX camera crew is getting sick of doing this twice a day.  
  
"I'm dying here!" gasps Boromir as he flops like a fishy to the ground right at the foot of Weathertop Hill. "And I would know! I've died before! I can't take... another... step. Dyind and coming back to life... isn't... easy."  
  
Everyone stares at him as he lies in the dirt. This is very unlike the proud Gondorian they remember.  
  
"Look how close we are though!" Sam cries, pointing to the top of the hill. "That was our goal for tonight, and we're already here in the middle of the morning."  
  
"That's because we've been jogging since midnight," Arwen points out. She wasn't usually one to complain, but she wasn't exactly the most athletic Elf in the group. That would be Legolas.  
  
"This brings back memories of tracking the Uruks across Rohan," he muses.  
  
"Yes. Well, that's nice, but it has nothing to do with us," Boromir wheezes, slowly sitting up.  
  
"You know, I don't know why they put a stuck-up dead guy on this show instead of Faramir," Eowyn grumbles.  
  
"Better him than Denethor. According to Pippin, he went crazy," Sam points out.  
  
"Just like you, you Ring-theif!" Frodo accuses the other person besides Gollum who tried to take the Ring. (No, not the Witch-King. I guess there are a few more people who attacked Frodo than I thought. Seriously, it's like he's a pincushion screaming "Stab me! Oh pretty please won't you stab me?! Or give me a fatal wound in as many other ways as you possibly can in the time Tolkien gave you to try and kill me?!")  
  
"Forgive me! You know what the Ring can do to your mind!" Boromir cries out.  
  
Frodo did know. He knew better than Boromir, but with all these people that he either feared or hated back from the dead and talking about the Ring, he turned back into the Frodo who was losing his battle with the Ring.  
  
"Never! You were supposed to protect me!"  
  
"Oh, come on, you forgave Gollum in a heartbeat!" Sam points out in exasperation. "And Boromir didn't do anything to you compared to him."  
  
"Boromir was a member of the Fellowship! And besides, Gollum made up for his wrongs."  
  
Sam can only stare at his master. He can hardly believe his ears.  
  
"How?! By trying to kill you he made up for the other time he tried to kill you?!"  
  
"No, he saved my life in the Dead Marshes, remember? And he stopped us from trying to get in the Black Gate when we would have been caught for sure. Gandalf was right when he said Gollum still had a part to play in the story. It's true that he bit my finger off, but he did that to save the world, Sam."  
  
Sam doesn't have the heart to tell him that Gollum's motives for chomping his finger off had nothing to do with the fate of the world. Frodo should have known that already. Sam is starting to recognize that this isn't the whoop-dee-doo-the-Ring-is-gone-and-now-all-of-a-sudden-I'm-okay-again Frodo.  
  
Luckily, Eowyn still has the guts to break the obvious newsflash to Frodo.  
  
"From what I know of this Gollum creature, it isn't something that would do anything for the good of others. Do you hear what you're saying? All he wanted was the Ring. If you don't forgive this dolt Boromir, I'll vote you off," she tells him coldly. It's not very nice to say, but it's just what he needs to hear.  
  
His shockingly blue eyes widen, and he quickly nods to Boromir.  
  
"You're forgiven," he tells the undead Gondorian, who gives a smile of relief.  
  
"I don't forgive HIM though," Frodo adds, pointing at the Lord of the Nazgul, who was one of the many to "mistake" the hobbit for a pincushion.  
  
"Oh." Eowyn glances at the menacing, black-robed Witch-King. "Well, that's alright."  
  
"What!?" he hisses threateningly.  
  
The security people jump out from behind some pricker-bushes and form a protective shield around Eowyn and Frodo. The Witch-King screams that weird, long hissing shriek but backs off, which is dumb since the security dudes already ran away in terror like normal twenty-first century people. Normal people are so stupid and useless in Middle-earth. (No offense, self (or any of you).)  
  
There's a long silence as the Ringwraith and shield-maiden stare each other down. Finally Legolas has to break the tension by stating the obvious as usual. Seriously, someone pointed out to me how stupid his lines are in the movie, and they have a point. (No offense to whoever wrote the movie script, cuz they rock.)  
  
"We must move on. We cannot keep moving this slowly."  
  
They all grumble but agree.  
  
"When are we supposed to have reached Mordor?" Boromir asks the Elf.  
  
"Tomorrow." Legolas doesn't even blink when he answers, but you could have heard a pin drop in the silence that follows, if a pin makes any sound falling on grass.  
  
"We're still a day's journey from Rivendell," Arwen informs them without Legolas's calmness.  
  
"This is impossible," Frodo moans.  
  
"So was your quest to destroy the Ring, and you did that," Sam points out, as usual the last one to give up.  
  
"If only we had a faster way to travel..." Eowyn sighs.  
  
"If SOMEONE hadn't decapitated my fell beast, we would," the Witch-King growls, staring pointedly at Eowyn with his nonexistent eyes.  
  
"That fell worm? It couldn't even fight as well as one of those bunny rabbits in the Shire," Eowyn replies, exaggerating, but not by much.  
  
"No, let's face it. There's no easier way. We have to rely on each other," Frodo declares.  
  
"Oh, well that's very motivational, but I don't feel like relying on anything that's possessed or lives in Mordor," Boromir sneers. "Well, 'exists' in Mordor is a better word."  
  
"Can we all stop arguing until we reach our camp!?!" Sam cries. His voice is loud enough to echo, and everyone else stops talking.  
  
"Finally, someone has some sense," Arwen mutters, patting Sam on the back. Everyone slowly starts jogging again, even Boromir. As Legolas passes the camera, he turns to glare at something behind him. The "something" is wearing a sparkly pink prom dress and has her hair done up in the second fanciest hairdo the world has seen since Marie Antoinette. She flashes a brilliant smile.  
  
"Why are you here?" he demands, somehow still managing to sound polite. Must be because he's an Elf.  
  
"I have nothing to do until tomorrow afternoon when your first challenge is, so they let me follow along with you! Isn't it super? I would miss you too much if I didn't."  
  
Jessica gives him her best puppy-dog eyes. The Mirkwood Elf raises an eyebrow and turns on his heel to follow his tribe. To be more accurate, he sprints to the front of their little pack and only looks back fearfully over his shoulder when he's put about fifty yards between himself and the Barbie-doll wannabe. She throws a temper tantrum before gazing after Legolas longingly.  
  
"I think I'm about to cry!" a cameraman sniffs.  
  
"I think I'm about to puke!" announces another. "What are you doing? You're the hostess! You can't show favoritism!"  
  
She sighs and turns back to the camera.  
  
"Okie dokie, no favorite-nim. Well, thanks everybody, and buh-byezies!" She curtsies dramatically.  
  
The camera zooms out and out and out and out and out until all you can see is Middle-earth from outer space. You really have to wonder how much this shot costs, but nobody really cares, since it's so so so so so so cool.  
  
~*~ 


	5. Episode 5: 1st Reward Challenge

Disclaimer: Guess what! I still have legally nothing to do with Tolkien or Survivor. cry cry but I'll live...  
  
Random Note: Big thanks to Elven-Star-of-Gold who's the only one who wrote any reviews! Probably the only one who read it too! (Nallasariel and some more of my friends at school also read it, but that's not the point.) Anyway, thank you thank you thank you, and I'm glad you liked it! Also, sorry this took forever to post. I have literally had no free time thanks to soccer and science olympiad, but now I will cuz SCHOOL GETS OUT ON JUNE 4! Yay!!!!!!!   
  
Episode 5: First Reward Challenge  
  
This time when the show starts, the zoom over Middle-earth shows Mount Doom blowing its top only second after the shot starts, then it zooms away from Mordor to show the majestic White City glowing in the sunrise. In other words, it actually looks like professional photographers filmed it. Actually, it's only because the cameraman who lost his occupation- writing job wants to prove he isn't totally worthless. Just pretty close.  
  
Eowyn's face appears next on the screen. This time the blue writing reads 'Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan and Fell Beast Butt-kicker'. She doesn't look like she's up to fell beast butt-kicking, or even very white, right now though. Her expression is blank, and her clothes that aren't even white are splattered with mud anyways.  
  
"We're doing alright," she says in reply to the question nobody in the audience heard, "considering we haven't slept since day one. We decided that we'll only sleep every other night so we can reach Mordor before the game is over..." Her eyelids flutter uncharacteristically and she flops over backwards. Legolas catches her just before her head is smashed on a rock. The camera zooms in on him. 'Legolas Greenleaf, Elven Prince of Mirkwood and Archery Phenomenon' appears below his face.  
  
"Tell us: Why aren't you half dead from sleep deprivation?" asks an unfamiliar voice because I'm not even going to bother making up this interviewing character.  
  
"I'm an Elf," he replies simply. When they don't stop the camera, he adds, "We can walk around and do things while we sleep."  
  
He points at Arwen, who's the only other one who doesn't resemble a zombie. The Witch-King isn't tired either, but you can't really say he doesn't resemble a zombie.  
  
"Carry nice Smeagol! We are lighter than Master!" Gollum begs Sam, who is still trying to carry a snoring Frodo on his back. Instead of a nice ride, he gets a kick in the face, which I won't deny that he deserves. The miserable... whatever you want to call him catapults backwards and lands on his ugly bony head. Years of doing nothing but stare at the Ring, burning to death in boiling lava, not having slept or eaten in days, and being kicked in the face are definitely taking their toll. He's losing weight faster than that Jared guy from Subway, and when you only weigh about fifty pounds and all your weight is in your bones because you have no fat and no brain, that's not a good thing.  
  
"Sssstupid fat hobbit! It hatessss ussss!" he wails pitifully.  
  
"Oh, and I wonder why," Sam replies sarcastically.  
  
"Frodo! Sam!" calls a familiar voice from nearby. Frodo finally wakes up at the sound of his name (why Sam and Arwen didn't think of that, I'll never know). He runs over to Merry and Pippin as they come crashing out of the Old Forest. The three hobbits bounce up and down and hug each other as the rest of the zombified Alcarinque tribe stares.  
  
"Aragorn!" Arwen, Eowyn, and Legolas cry simultaneously as the King follows. Boromir just stands there, not sure how to react, and the Witch- King screams. The only other person he hates almost as much as Eowyn and Merry is arriving. Everyone but Gandalf freezes at the eerie ear-splitting sound. Sam, having fallen asleep half a minute ago, wakes up in a millisecond and jumps to his feet.  
  
"MR. FRODO!" he yells automatically. After having spent so much time running and hiding from Ringwraiths, you can't blame him for being a little paranoid.  
  
Everybody stares at him anyways.  
  
Luckily, the Witch-King only hisses in disgust at the people he's stuck with, instead of trying to kill them with one of the swords he somehow smuggled past the terrified security guards on day one. Everyone slowly relaxes again and continues the big reunion.  
  
Arwen and Legolas wait impatiently at the end of the "Oh-my-gosh-it's- Aragorn-I-gotta-be-first-in-line-to-say-hi-to-him-cuz-then-I-look-cool-even- if-I-don't-know-him" line. Legolas finally is next in line after waiting twenty minutes when his worst nightmare returns.  
  
"Hey, dudes!" the hostess squeals. Today, she's wearing a pink authentic leather jacket, pink tinted sunglasses, a white skirt (Wow, it's not pink! It's the apocalypse!), pink sandals, two pink beaded necklaces, a red T-shirt that says "Legolas's Pretty Angel" on it in pink swirly script, pink eye shadow, and pink lipstick. "Hey, Legolas, what's up?"  
  
He doesn't answer. He runs off to talk to Gimli who's a safer distance away.  
  
Jessica pouts, but finally remembers why she came in the first place.  
  
"Well, don't you guys wonder why I brought you all here?"  
  
The contestants all stop their celebrating and stare at her with dread.  
  
"It's your first challenge today! Woo-hoo! It's gonna be sooooooooooo totally sweet! Well, not literally!" She giggles like a five- year-old. "Gather over there. Alcarinque, stand by that tree with the blue looking type thing tied to it. Tier-firn, stand by the tree with the pink thingy." The two tribes reluctantly obey.  
  
Jessica waits as the old boat-driving guy with no life wheels a huge table out of the Old Forest. It's covered by a huge silver dome thing with a handle. The old boat-driving, table-wheeling guy with no life stands there looking stupid as Jessica explains what's going on.  
  
"Okie dokie. Your tribes will compete in this eating challenge for a reward. The super-duper awesome reward for today is..."  
  
She waits for a drumroll that is apparently supposed to come out of thin air.  
  
"... HORSES!" she finishes enthusiastically. She smiles the biggest, sunniest smile any of them have ever seen when the Alcarinque tribe (which of course includes Legolas) cheers along with her.  
  
"We're going to win," Merry whispers to Pippin as the chomp on the berries Galadriel found for the Tier-firn tribe. "Eating is our specialty." Of course, they don't know that the other tribe is so desperate for food that Frodo, Sam, and even Eowyn tried eating grass earlier.  
  
The old boat-driving, table-wheeling, cover-lifting guy lifts the cover off the table. The contestants almost faint from the horrible rotting stench that fills the air. Jessica does faint. Sadly, the crew is forced to revive her, since she's the only one who can explain the challenge. The occupation-writer, thinking ahead, clips a clothespin on her nose.  
  
She sits up, and then she notices the clothespin.  
  
"Aaaaah! You pierced my nose! Who did this!? Look how ugly it is! You could have at least—"  
  
The occupation-writer yanks it back off.  
  
"...Oh." Jessica's face turns bright pink to match her outfit. She shudders when she smells the food again, but continues. "As I was saying, you gotta take turns eating one item at a time from the table. I'll call the names of one person from each tribe and tell you what to eat. Okie dokesies?"  
  
The survivors nod, but you can tell by their expressions that they're about to barf already.  
  
"Peregrin," she calls in a sing-song voice.  
  
"It's Pippin. No one calls me Peregrin," he corrects her.  
  
"Pippin? What kind of a –never mind—okay then. Well, Pippin, we can't have any favorite-nim, so you'll all need nicknames. Let's see..."  
  
"I've already got one. I'm Merry," Merry interrupts before she can give him a worse one, though there aren't many worse nicknames for a guy than that one.  
  
"Okay, whatever, dude. It sounds kinda girly though." She stops to think for a second. "Oh, duh! You can all have girly nicknames! Galadriel can be Riela, the Witch-King can be Witchy, Gandalf can be Gandalfwina, Legolas can be Leggy, and Gimli, well, his name is already girly enough. He doesn't need a new one. And..."  
  
"What!?" the Dwarf cries indignantly. "That's favoritism if I ever –" He stops abruptly as the security guards take a step forward.  
  
"Jessica, stop wasting time and get to the challenge please," the producer says impatiently. She pouts.  
  
"But they don't all have nicknames yet! That's even worse favorite- nim!"  
  
The producer takes a deep breath to try to stay patient, but it doesn't really work. "Look, the word is favoritism, and it doesn't matter! Give them nicknames when we're off-camera! Just do what I say!"  
  
"Fine." She flips her hair over her shoulder and turns back to the survivors.  
  
"So, the challenge. Pippin, it's your lucky day. You and... the Witch- King, I mean Witchy, get to eat a huge worm." Jessica points at two fat earthworms. Pippin stares at his distastefully, and we'll just leave it at that understatement. Whoever eats it all first wins the first round, and there will be eight rounds total. Ready... GO!"  
  
Pippin gulps the whole worm down in less than a second without chewing, the best way to go so you don't taste it. The lord of the ringwraiths doesn't move a muscle.  
  
"We need those horses! What are you doing!?" Boromir cries.  
  
"Pippin wins round one for Tier-firn!" Jessica squeals. "Next we have Gandalfwina and Boromir. Eat this... delicious..." she gags just looking at it, "rotting grasshopper. Go."  
  
By the time Gandalf has it in his mouth, Boromir has already gobbled it up.  
  
"That's disgusting," Jessica observes.  
  
"Except for a couple of us who ate some grass, our tribe has been starving since day one," the formerly dead son of the former steward of Gondor, who is now dead also, explains.  
  
"Wow, well that could actually be an advantage today. Anywaaaaaay, Alcarinque wins round two! Next is Galadriel and Gollum. Forget the nicknames for now. Eat this tasty fish head." The dead fishes' eyes stare blankly up at the contestants. "Go!"  
  
Galadriel picks the head up but can't bring herself to eat it. (I wonder why.) Gollum eats it slowly, savoring the raw fishy flavor.  
  
"Nice fishesss... Ssso juicy sssweet..."  
  
"I am officially grossed out," Jessica announces, a look of pure revulsion on her face as he eats Galadriel's fish head too.  
  
The challenge continues. Merry beats Frodo at eating calamari, Sam beats Saruman at eating a pig eye, Aragorn eats Eowyn's nasty stew before Arwen (the practice helped), Legolas beats Treebeard at eating a handful of beetles on a twig (cannibalism for the Ent), and Gimli eats pickled cabbage before Eowyn. The old boat-driving, table-wheeling, cover-lifting guy with no life tallies the score. It's a tie.  
  
"Well, here's what we do now. The two tribes each choose one person to eat our last item in the final round that wasn't supposed to exist." Jessica waits while they talk it out. Finally they choose Boromir and Pippin.  
  
"Ready?" the hostess asks, covering her nose, which isn't very reassuring for the two poor contestants. She lifts the cover, and Pippin and BOromir go pale as they recognize the smell. "Orc meat! Ready? Go!"  
  
"I'M SORRY!" Pippin wails. "There is no way I can make myself eat that." Merry nods understandingly. Boromir plugs his nose and eats it as fast as he can force himself to. That shows an awful lot of loyalty to his tribe.  
  
Alcarinque cheers as the security guys lead a herd of six horses and two ponies out of nowhere. Sam runs up to one pony and hugs it around the neck. Now he wouldn't have to carry Frodo on his back along with the only one of his precious pots and pans that he smuggled into the game! He knew Frodo always tried to stop him from carrying him since he felt bad for Sam, but it's hard to do that when you randomly fall asleep. It must be because he was burdened with the Ring for so long, Sam decided. That was a good excuse for everything weird Frodo did.  
  
The Alcarinque tribe finally feels like their tribe name fits as they ride east on their prizes. (Of course, they still have no food, but the disgusting challenge gave them enough to live , for a while.)  
  



	6. Episode 6: 1st Immunity Challenge

Disclaimer: Same as before. I am a poor broke person, who isn't really broke, who owns nothing related to Lord of the Rings except a shirt, a calendar, the books, and the DVDs. And a lot more stuff. And I already have a friend who tells me far too often that I'm obsessed. Oh well. Also, this challenge is based on one in Survivor All-Stars, so it's not original. If you've seen the real episode, you'll know which one I mean.  
  
Random Note: YAY! YAY, YAY, YAY! Another person wrote a review! Thank you thank you! All hail Scarlet Angel 4! And sorry, I'm not telling who's getting voted off. You'll see soon. (Next chapter.) And so did Nallasariel! Even though she already read it! Oh well! Thank you! Elven- Star-of-Gold, thanks for writing again, and random comments are just as good as critiques in my opinion. It tells me what stuff is good. I'm also sorry that this took forever to post, but I was gone on an Alaskan cruise and then at Blue Lake.  
  
Also, I'm testing whether accent marks and stuff will show up on here, so whether it works or not, you should be able to tell. Anyway, I'll get to the story.

Episode 6: First Immunity Challenge

Alcarinquë Day 4  
  
'Arwen Undomiel, Elven Maiden and Queen of Gondor and Arnor' pops up on the screen below Arwen's face.  
  
"Yes, we're doing all right now. The reward challenge has turned the tide. It lifted our spirits, we got some food to eat, and now we don't have to wear ourselves out trying to reach Mordor by yesterday." She laughs, another sign that things aren't too bad for her tribe. "That isn't a great way to live. We still need to find some more food, but we'll manage."  
  
She approaches the rest of the tribe, who was forced to wait as she did her pointless interview.  
  
"We've decided to ride two to a horse," Boromir informs her. "That way one person can sleep while the other rides. Now we won't have to stop to sleep."  
  
"Great, now who wants to be nocturnal?" Arwen asks.  
  
"Not me!" Frodo replies instantly. "Not as long as the Black Rider is around."  
  
"Yeah, who has to ride with him?" Sam asks nervously. There's a long silence.  
  
"I don't ever sleep. You ride on this horse, and you die," the Witch- King snarls. He means it to scare them out of their wits, but instead they all feel relieved.  
  
"That works for me!" Legolas laughs.  
  
"Oh, he's so hot!!!" Jessica whispers just loudly enough that the Elf hears. His grin instantly vanishes.  
  
"Please say you don't mean the black-robed dude," someone off-camera whispers back.  
  
"Duh, no. What do you think I am, stupid?"  
  
"No comment," the other person replies, which is probably a good idea.  
  
"We should take the hobbits," Arwen suggests to Legolas. She doesn't want Frodo to end up riding with Boromir or Gollum, even though Boromir is perfectly sane again.  
  
The dark-haired Elf rides with the dark-haired hobbit, and the light- haired Elf rides with the light-haired hobbit. The Witch-King rides alone, leaving Éowyn, Gollum, and Boromir. It's obvious from the two humans' expressions that Gollum is the last thing on the planet they want to share a horse with. Gollum hops up on the saddle and crouches there like a nasty starved frog. How attractive. Can't imagine why Jessica prefers Legolas.  
  
"I'll ride with Éowyn," Boromir decides half a second later.  
  
"No you won't," she objects. "The fact that I married Faramir doesn't mean I have to be nice to his dead brother."  
  
"You WHAT!? Faramir? _My_ brother Faramir?"  
  
"Yes, _your_ brother. He never mentioned that you were this stupid. In fact, he hardly talks about you at all."  
  
"What!? Did he forget I exist!?"  
  
"Actually, you don't. Not anymore," Legolas reminds him solemnly. "You're dead."  
  
Boromir's proud shoulders sag.  
  
"Must everyone keep rubbing it in?"  
  
"You saved Merry and Pippin," Frodo says in reply. "Don't think we aren't grateful." Although by the end of this game, everyone may wish the two hobbits had just died. Wa ha ha!  
  
Boromir shakes his head, but it's still reassuring to know your life wasn't forgotten.  
  
"Thank you, Frodo."  
  
Éowyn feels so bad that she agrees to ride with him.

Tier-firn Day 4  
  
"_Yo ho, yo ho! A pirate's life for me_!" Pippin sings at the top of his lungs. Poor Merry, who's riding on Treebeard right next to him, is going slowly deaf. He covers his ears.  
  
"What in the world are you singing!?"  
  
"Jessica taught it to me. She says it's a song in her second favorite movie, whatever that means. She's crazy about this guy in a pirate story who she swears looks just like Legolas with brown hair. Anyway... _Drink up me hearties yo ho! Yo ho, yo ho, a_ –"  
  
"Shut up, fool of a halfling!" Saruman yells just loud enough that Pippin can hear him over his own voice.  
  
"You're supposed to say 'fool of a Took'." Pippin wags a finger as he corrects the angry wizard from his safe perch. "That's what Gandalf says. And since he's the White Wizard and you're just an insignificant old man, I would –"  
  
"Pippin! Take a hint! Stop talking before something bad happens to you!" Aragorn advises somewhat harshly. You can't blame him though. The halfling's singing has been driving him crazy for the past four hours.  
  
"Whatever you say," Pippin replies respectfully, which makes Saruman even more annoyed. Pippin stuffs the last of his berries into his mouth, as well as Merry's. And Saruman's. Okay, he ate the last of all the berries. His best skill is not long-term planning.  
  
"Let's just stop here," Gimli suggests desperately. Pippin is driving more people insane than he means to.  
  
"Oh, good, a stream. I'm really thirsty," Pippin says cheerfully, forgetting all about his unfinished song.  
  
Everyone sits down, drinks some water, and relaxes boringly for a while. Aragorn and Galadriel, the survival experts, get ready to hunt down some more plants to eat. Gimli tries to convince them to let him come so he can get away from Pippin, but fails miserably. They already know he can't tell raspberries from poison ivy.

1st Immunity Challenge At Long Long Long Long Last  
  
The two tribes gather around Jessica once again, after the camera crew finally found Alcarinquë and convinced them to backtrack several miles. It took quite a while. After all, who wants to erase half a day's travel time so they can start all over again?  
  
"Woo-hoo! The sky is blue, my make-up looks good, the sun is... up there... yeah. It's a perfect time for an immunity challenge! This one is way different from the last one. The winning tribe gets no reward, but the losing tribe has to vote one of their people out of the game later tonight. Okie dokie?"  
  
Pippin elbows Merry.  
  
"OUCH! What was –!"  
  
He clamps a hand over Merry's mouth and looks innocently around, pretending as if he can't imagine why everyone is now staring at the two hobbits.  
  
"I just wanted to ask what 'okie dokie' means," Pippin whispers once they all look away again, although at this point it wouldn't have made any difference if he had yelled too.  
  
"How would I know, stupid?" Merry asks in annoyance, rubbing his bruising arm. "If you don't know something, I don't either." He instantly regrets saying that. He couldn't have come up with a worse insult to himself if he had tried.  
  
"Six of you in each tribe will be blindfolded," Jessica continues. "The other two will be shouting out instructions to the blindfolded people. Your goal is to pick up your tribe's stack of those big tree-branch log- type thingies over there," she points unnecessarily, "and bring them back here. Once you have all of them, you can take off the blindfolds and build a ladder out of the branch things up to the top of your tribe's designated –wow that's a big word –platform. Climb up and light your torch first and you win!"  
  
She does a complicated cheerleading routine all wrong as she waits for them to decide who gets to boss everyone else around.  
  
Frodo and Legolas are chosen for Alcarinquë, and Tier-firn chooses Gandalf and Pippin. Pippin for his unmatched screaming abilities of course.  
  
The twelve who are blindfolded line up fifty yards from the two stacks of wood.  
  
"You guide Merry, Gimli, and Aragorn," Gandalf whispers to Pippin.  
  
"Good plan," Pippin whispers back excitedly, feeling honored that Gandalf trusts him to not run the king of half the world into a tree.  
  
"I don't want you to trample people with Treebeard by mistake," the wizard adds. Pippin can't tell if he's teasing or really explaining.  
  
"GO!" Jessica cries, bouncing on tip-toes.  
  
"Tier-firn, forward!" Gandalf bellows. They all jump in surprise and charge straight ahead. Gandalf has a very scary voice when it's yelling at you. Merry and Gimli sprint as quickly as possible, trip over the logs, and are thrown onto their faces in the dirt. Luckily, not everyone ran that fast.  
  
"Straight ahead, slowly!" Frodo orders his tribe more carefully.  
  
"Up, Merry! Gimli, you too! Good job finding them. Now pick up a branch and run toward my voice!" Pippin yells. They each grab one and start trying to run. Gimli accidentally clobbers Merry with a piece of wood longer than the hobbit is tall. Merry falls on his face again, and Saruman steps on his back before tripping and falling on his own face.  
  
"Get up, Merry! UP! Treebeard, STOP!" Pippin barely prevents his friend's transformation into a non-vegetarian pancake.  
  
Meanwhile, Frodo and Legolas are having better luck. Éowyn and Sam have already each brought back a ladder rung, while Gimli was the only Tier- firn to do so.  
  
"Arwen, to your left! No, a little too far... Good, now bend over and you'll have it!"  
  
"I think we need a new strategy," Pippin decides mischievously. "Aragorn, move a little farther straight ahead and you'll have one. Now, Gimli, run really really fast to the right. You're going the wrong way."  
  
Gimli was actually going the right direction all along, but this was all a part of Pippin's evil plan. Gimli crashes into Arwen, and being built like a midget football linebacker, he sends her flying. She drops the giant branch, obviously.  
  
"Oops! You hit someone! Now pick up the log and run directly to your left!" The Dwarf obeys, and unknowingly puts Arwen's branch right back where she found it.  
  
"That's cheating!" Legolas protests.  
  
"How is it cheating? It slows our team down too."  
  
"Legolas, help please?" Frodo asks impatiently as Arwen searches in vain for her stolen tree branch and Gollum crashes head-on into a tree. "Arwen, turn to face the opposite direction and take about ten steps!"  
  
"Another three for Tier-firn!" Jessica squeals, biting her painted pink nails, which I doubt tastes very good. Legolas isn't winning, and she isn't allowed to help!  
  
"Good, now forward Galadriel! Treebeard, take one step to the right and then go forward as quickly as you like for about four paces! Saruman, start moving or you will suffer!" Gandalf roars.  
  
"Gimli, run to your left and you'll find another one! Merry, you've got it! Step to your left and run towards my voice! Aragorn, stop! Wrong way!" Gandalf's strategy is working. Controlling three specific people is much easier than just randomly giving out instructions.  
  
Five minutes later, a cheer goes up from the Tier-firn tribe. They've won their first challenge.  
  
"Great job, guys! Woo-hoo!" Jessica claps enthusiastically, then hands something small to Aragorn. He opens his hand, and does a double- take when he sees what it is. Merry and Pippin stare, wide-eyed. Galadriel gives a sharp gasp. It's the Ring!  
  
"What!?" Gandalf cries almost threateningly.  
  
"It's only a replica, sillies! Like duh! It's just symbolizing that your tribe has immunity."  
  
"What's a replica?" Merry asks, even more confused than when she started her explanation.  
  
"It means it's not the real Ring, it's just made to look like it. Cool, huh?"  
  
"Uh, no," Merry replies.  
  
"That's not very nice. Do you think Frodo wants to see that thing again? He'll have a heart attack!" Pippin argues.  
  
Jessica pouts. She looks confused.  
  
"But he's not in your tribe."  
  
"Did it ever occur to you that the other tribe could win another challenge later on?" Gimli asks gruffly.  
  
She thinks for a second.  
  
"Oh, of course. I knew that. Like duh," she lies.  
  
"Now what happens to our tribe?" Frodo asks. Fortunately, he didn't hear their conversation or he would probably have passed out by now.  
  
"I'll meet you guys at tribal council in Rivendell. By then, you each have to decide one person to vote for. The person with the most votes leaves the game. It'll be fun. See ya!" She winks at Legolas, even though he wasn't even listening to what she was saying.  
  
The hostess flounces over to the pink golf cart she travels Middle- earth in, and the Mirkwood Elf shakes his head in disgust. Alcarinquë gets ready for the fastest ride of their lives, wondering whether the people who chose the tribal council spot know anything about Middle-earth geography. Probably not.


	7. Episode 7: 1st Tribal Council

Disclaimer: Yawn yawn snore. None of the characters who aren't mine are mine. Duh. The end.

Random Note: Thanks for the reviews guys! And Elenlor Edhelen and Scarlet Angel4: you're about to get to stop wondering who's getting voted off... yep, this chapter. It's not that surprising really, once you know who it is. Okay, bad self, no more hints. Well, here we go!

Episode 7: Tribal Coucil

"Welcome, Alcarinquë!" Jessica screams from way up in Rivendell's highest building. They slowly make their way up there, impressed that she, or anyone else for that matter, can actually yell that loudly.

"Let's get this party goin'!" she cheers, wondering why they all look so depressed. "What's wrong?"

They stare at her like she's crazy.

"We've been talking all day, and the only person we've agreed we should vote off is you," Legolas replies.

"Oooooh, burn. How can you _say_ that?" She looks positively horrorstruck. _Legolas_ is saying this to her? Her precious, idolized Legolas? "So you haven't decided anything at all?"

"Oh, we have, but it will be close," Sam answers.

"Okay then. You can all sit down over there," she indicates a long stone bench. "Let's talk. How's life going?" She wipes a tear out of her eye, avoiding looking at Legolas, but smiles. Legolas, to his dismay, almost feels bad for her. Almost.

"We found some berry bushes, but that's all we've eaten today. Or the whole game come to think of it, unless you count that nasty challenge," Frodo replies. "I'm not trying to complain. It's better than starving in Mordor with a possessed former hobbit trying to kill you while he's your only hope at the same time."

"Nasssty... we wants fishessss..." Gollum hisses.

Everyone ignores him.

"Do we really need to build our camp in Mordor?" Sam asks, not really wanting to repeat the experience Frodo just mentioned. "Or can we stay somewhere else?"

"Like duh! If your camp is in Morydor you're supposed to _go_ there."

"But does it matter how long we take?" Boromir presses, catching on to Sam's plan. "For example, if we only reach it the last day?"

Jessica frowns. "Is this some kind of conspiracy?"

"No. We do not cheat. That's why we lost the challenge," Arwen points out.

"Good point. An 'A plus' for you with a cherry on top!" Arwen doesn't have a clue what that means, and in reality neither do I, so she just smiles charmingly.

"Well, it's time to vote. Arwen, you're first."

She makes her way confidently down the length of the balcony, seeming to glide as she walks. The only light comes from the stars and a few flickering lanterns, but she knows where she's going. After all, Rivendell is where she grew up, and she knows it like the back of her hand. Except that the show's crew moved some things around since she was here last.

SPLAT! Arwen falls on her face. I have nothing against Arwen, but it was the camera crew who moved stuff, not me. I'm totally innocent here, since I technically don't exist.

She gets back up and walks, a little more carefully, down to the table at the end of the hall. She takes the sweet-looking eagle-feather quill and writes down a name the cameraman avoids filming on purpose to increase the suspense. (oooooh, ahhhhh....)

Sam is up next. He scribbles down Gollum's name without having to think about it. No surprise there.

"I think we'll all be a whole lot better off, and a lot safer, with you gone. Actually, my mistake, I _know_ we'll be better off," Sam tells the camera, even though it's directed at Gollum.

Gollum is up next. He doesn't even try to murder Sam on his way down the hall as the hobbit comes back. Maybe he's hoping Sam will get voted off and that'll be the end of their enemyship. No one really knows what's going on in that disturbing little head.

Gollum stares at the blank paper.

"We cannot write, can we precioussss...? No... filthy humans must do it for ussss..."

The occupation-writer moves in front of Gollum, ignoring the fact that he was just called a filthy human. I would've kicked the stupid creature.

"Who should I write down?"

Gollum grins menacingly, since that's about the only way he grins.

"The fat hobbit."

The Witch-King approaches next. Seeing the undead wraith in the shadowy hall coming right at him sends shivers up the poor occupation-writer's spine.

"The Lady of Rohan," he hisses in his eerie rattling breath, apparently thinking he's too cool to write his own vote.

The occupation-writer, whose name happens to be Billiam Oscar Bobkins, scribbles 'Lady of Rohan' down as quickly as possible and runs to hide behind the camera crew. He decides not to tell the Witch-King and Gollum they really should learn the names of the people they want to vote off.

Boromir votes next, and then Éowyn and Legolas, but the camera doesn't let you guys see any of their votes. Frodo goes last. The camera zooms in on his face so you can see him talk but not read the paper he's holding up. They really like suspense.

"I hate to do this to anyone in the Fellowship, since all of you came along just to help me, but you aren't helping us now."

"Okie dokie! Now I'll read the votes out loud," Jessica announces happily. "Whoever has the most votes will bring me their –oops, I forgot. Everybody grab one of those torches."

The old boat-driving guy with like five other verbs in his name wheels a big flaming thing into the room.

The Survivors grab and light a torch, even though the Witch-King doesn't want to get within fifty feet of anything on fire after what Aragorn did to him on Weathertop. Once he figures out that he can hold the unlit end of the torch without burning up in a fiery inferno, he starts glancing between the fire and Éowyn's hair a little too often to mean anything good.

The squad of twenty security guards assigned to no other task than to supervise the Witch-King all clear their throats and glare at him as they pull out their flamethrowers.

The Witch-King decides not to torch Éowyn's hair after all.

"Okay good," Jessica says, totally oblivious to that fact that one of the Survivors could have been killed two seconds ago. "Whoever gets the most votes will bring me their torch. I'll put it out, and that person will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately. Here I go!"

She leaves a dramatic pause, then looks every single one of them in the eye, and finally opens the little box their votes are in. Her face lights up like a little girl opening a Christmas present. She unfolds the first slip of paper like it's a card from her best friend.

"First vote: Gollum!"

Gollum glares at Sam, and then glances suspiciously at Frodo.

"One vote for my buddy Boromir. One vote for... 'fat hobbit'? Who is that?"

"That's what Gollum calls Sam," Frodo explains, since Sam is trying really hard not to yell at Gollum and is therefore incapable of talking at all.

"Well, we know who wrote that one. That makes, um, one vote Boromir, one vote Gollum, and one vote Samwise. Next, we have... Boromir."

Boromir turns pale but clenches his jaw and doesn't say anything.

"And... Éowyn."

Éowyn's expression doesn't change.

"Next vote is for... hey, this isn't... I can't read this." Jessica turns the slip of paper upside down and squints at it.

A short girl with black hair walks in and stands in front of Jessica.

"Hey there. We're filming a show right now. Someone can take you home, okay? Please get off-screen," the hostess says kind of politely.

"My name is Kayla. I'm the Elvish language expert."

"But you're five years old."

"I'm thirteen."

"...Oh." Jessica blushes and hands the slip of paper to Kayla.

"It's Gollum," the Elvish expert says after two seconds.

"Um, Gollum can't write. He already voted for –"

"No, it says 'Gollum' on it."

"Oh, right. That makes two votes for Boromir, two for Gollum, one for Éowyn, and one for Samwise. You can go away now," she tells Kayla.

"There'll be another one you can't read." 

"Says who?"

"There are two Elves in this tribe. That means two votes will be in Elvish. Use your head."

Jessica bites her lip and glares at Kayla. She doesn't like people implying that she's stupid, even though she really is.

"Fine. Next vote... Lady of Rohan. Is that Arwen?"

"It's Éowyn."

"Okay! Shut up! I don't know these things! I'm just the host!" Jessica takes a deep breath and tucks her hair behind her ears. She unfolds the last piece of paper and hands it reluctantly to the teenage girl.

"The final vote and the person who will be leaving the game... Boromir," Kayla announces dramatically.

"That was my line," Jessica complains.

Kayla just smirks. "Sorry, too bad for you."

Jessica takes another deep breath. "Okay, fine. Boromir, bring me your torch."

He reluctantly but bravely steps forward.

"The tribe has spoken." She pucks up a half coconut shell to put out the flame.

"You'll let me stay alive until the game is over?" Boromir blurts. "Please?" Frodo, Arwen, and Éowyn feel guilty. They forgot that he's dead.

"It would be evil not to. Like duh, right?"

"Sure," he says, confused but relieved.

She covers the flame with the shell and dramatically lifts it back off.

The torch is still lit. Boromir blows it out for her. She mouths "thank you" but points at an archway leading down another lantern-lit hall.

Boromir looks back at his tribe before he goes, and gives a short wave. Everybody except Gollum and the Witch-King wave back. What a shock.

Then Boromir turns away and vanishes down the hallway, never to be seen again by any of them, even though he'll be watching the show from wherever they put him.

Who Voted for Who

(sponsored by Idiots of America Inc.)

Frodo for Boromir

Arwen for Boromir

Éowyn for Boromir

Sam for Gollum

Legolas for Gollum

Witch-King for Éowyn

Boromir for Éowyn

Gollum for Sam

Boromir's out first. Déjà vu, huh? Poor guy. The rest of the people voted off won't be so predictable though. I hope this one wasn't. Wa ha ha... :-) (that's supposed to be a smiley with evil eyebrows)


	8. Episode 8: Some Challenge This Is

Here's a happy little Merry Christmas present to all y'all who were wishing so desperately that I would write more! (Yeah, that was major sarcasm. But I can pretend there are some of you are out there. Maybe there are…) Anyway, I WROTE MORE!!

Disclaimer: Woe is me, I make no money for writing this, or anything else for that matter. I'm a dirty-rotten thief. No offense to thieves meant.

Random Note: Man, if I keep posting at this rate I doubt I'll be done by the end of next school year. I dunno whether that was an exaggeration or not. But hang in there, Episode 23 is really good. (My gosh, I even scare _myself_. My self. My's elf. Oooh, that's cool.) Okay, so hanging in there is totally optional. If you come back in a year or so, I may be done.

**IMPORTANT REQUEST TO ALL Y'ALL**: If you know of anything that can scan written words from notebook paper and turn them into a Word document, PLEASE tell me. You'll be my hero forever. And no, I'm not from anywhere that people use the word "y'all", but I've been to Kentucky a few times.

Lalalalalala (since any cool-looking punctuation I type here doesn't usually show up)

**Episode 8: Some Challenge _This_ Is**

Tier-firn Day 6

Pippin laughs. The words 'Peregrin Took, Hobbit Hero of the Shire' appear below his face.

"Yes, our strategy is still to travel as slowly as possible, so we don't ever reach Moria, while stocking up on as much food as we can carry. The hardest part is not letting the show's crew know about it."

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf yells from off-screen. "You just told them!"

Gimli walks by with a bulging pack, which is actually his Lórien cloak with too much food wrapped in it.

"Gandalf, have we traveled far enough for today? This food weighs more than me," the Dwarf grumbles.

"Which is saying something," Pippin whispers to Merry.

The wizard stops walking and surveys the land ahead.

"We should walk for a few more minutes. We've only covered half a mile today."

"How many minutes is a few?" Merry groans, collapsing under a pack as big as Shadowfax, although I can't imagine why the horse isn't carrying any of the food. I guess he's too cool to be a pack horse.

Gandalf thinks for a moment. "Ten."

"How about one?" Merry asks hopefully.

Gandalf considers this, but then shakes his head. "Ten," he repeats.

"Maybe two?"

"Ten."

"Three?"

"Ten."

"Four?"

"Ten!"

"Five?"

"Ten, Merry! Take a hint!" Gimli answers for Gandalf.

"Well, how about six?" Merry continues, unfazed.

"_Ten_." Gandalf is getting sick of saying the number over and over again. After all, nine is a more Lord-of-the-Ringsy number.

"Seven?"

"Ooh, ooh! He's going to say ten!" Pippin predicts, bouncing up and down.

"Ten," Gandalf repeats, relieved that this is over with. If Pippin figured it out, Merry must have too.

"Eight?" Merry insists.

Maybe not then.

"_Ten_!"

"Nine?" the two hobbits ask in unison.

Thunderclouds roll in from out of nowhere.

Pippin looks up, blinking.

"Does that mean we win?" he wonders aloud.

"I'll give you one guess," Gimli replies sarcastically, trying to balance his food on his head to keep off the rain he knows is coming.

"Yes?" Pippin ventures uncertainly.

BOOM! A clap of thunder rings through the now considerably wetter air, and a bolt of lightning strikes the tree right next to Merry and Pippin. A sheet of rain pours mercilessly down on the Tier-firn tribe, not including Gandalf with his magicky bubble shield thing. Their huge packs become even heavier with the weight of the rainwater.

Gandalf almost smiles when he sees Merry's expression.

"Ten minutes," the Wizard says cheerfully.

Alcarinquë Day 6

"My laptop! It's like totally deep-fried!" Jessica wails only seconds after the rain starts. She shows it miserably to Legolas, who does his best to look like he actually cares as he wonders what a laptop is.

The hostess quickly pulls a bubble-gum pink raincoat out of her golfcart, and throws it over the now-tragically-never-again-to-be-used-chunk-of-metal-formerly-known-as-a-laptop-computer. No, she isn't quite smart enough to think of putting it on _herself_. Or, well, we can say she's being very considerate and selfless, and also trying to prevent everyone from being electrocuted in case the 110 dead computer lets out a powerful blast of lightning and the rubber will protect them against, oh, maybe 1 of the electricity.

Yeah. Believe whichever you like.

The Alkies (this is much easier than their full name, or was until I started with the parentheses) all stare at the raincoat.

"So that keeps water off?" Frodo asks. You can almost hear him think, _Hint hint_.

"Yep!" Jessica says happily. "Maybe we can still save Benvolio."

They stare.

"Benvolio. You know…"

They still stare.

"My computer. I named him Benvolio."

"Oh, that thing?" Sam asks, pointing to the former computer.

"Duh. Haven't I introduced –"

"We were kind of hoping we could use your cloak, since you haven't noticed," Éowyn says coldly. "Duh." The pop-culture is starting to take hold.

"Oh, I _couldn't_ do that! It would show favorite-nim over Tier-firn! That is definitely '_forbidden, Jessica you idiot'_!"

"Jess, the word is 'favoritism'. We've been over this." The producer pauses, although he's glad that at least one thing he told her wasn't forgotten yet. "Eight times."

"Right," she says. "Favorite-nism?"

"Favoritism," he corrects her patiently.

"Favorite-it-ism?" she tries again, but then she sees the look on his face. "With maybe another 'ism'?"

"I give up. Stick with favorite-nim. Just keep going."

Jessica shrugs indifferently.

Alcarinquë stares up at the angry grey sky as they wait for Jessica to say something. Only minutes before, it had been sunny and warm. This was not Middle-earthish weather. In Michigan, sure, this drastic switch could be considered normal. But not in Middle-earth.

"Someone must have made Gandalf really mad," Sam jokes. Several people laugh, not knowing that he's right.

"I bet it was Saruman," Legolas adds.

"Hey! Water!" Frodo suddenly realizes. He tilts his head back and opens his mouth wide. Everyone else does the same, discluding of course the tall guy in black with no face. It's raining hard enough that they actually get a few gulps of water each. No, they still haven't gotten any food. Poor little Alcarinquë.

"You all look like morons," Jessica informs them with a snort of laughter that sounds incredibly like a pig.

"Come on, we still have to find the other tribe for the challenge," the producer complains. "Today would be nice."

"Party pooper," Jessica grumbles happily. Talk about an oxymoron.

Fifteen Minutes Later…

"Welcome to your first ever immunity challenge!" you-can-guess-who cries happily over the crashes of thunder.

"Already?" Éowyn asks in some form of non-excitedness.

"Shut up," the Witch-King hisses, sounding extremely un-Witch-King-like. "Or you'll be the first to go." Jessica has really been hanging around Alcarinquë too much.

Éowyn glares at him. In a flash of silver that can almost be mistaken for lightning in all the pouring rain, she's suddenly holding a sword.

"Hey!" the producer shouts. "How did she get that?"

"I dunno," Jessica's brain responds automatically.

Éowyn replies instead. "I snuck it in after I heard that the cursèd, evil Nazgûl loser was going to bring his sword along."

"How did you hear about that when even our top security never did?" the producer demands.

"They're called hobbits. They make great eaves-droppers," Éowyn replies, smirking. Merry clears his throat.

The Witch-King draws his sword from inside the creepy black cloak nobody was willing to search for weapons on day one. Frodo shudders and runs to hide behind Gandalf. The rest of the Alkies gather fearfully behind fellow Alkies Éowyn and Legolas, who already has an arrow notched in the short-bow nobody knew he had. Tier-firn stays where they already are, which is behind Gandalf. Safest place in Middle-earth, most likely.

"Blondies versus Creepy Dude! Go Blondies!" Jessica cheers, oblivious to the fact that a mini-war is starting.

"No, no, no. Stop," Kayla intervenes, talking like she would to a five-year-old who's playing Candy Land all wrong. She takes advantage of the momentary confusion to take the Witch-King's sword gently out of his hand.

"We do not play with these," she scolds, proceeding to snatch up Éowyn's sword and Legolas' bow. They probably only let her take them because the Ringwraith is disarmed too. Kayla holds her hand out, palm up, to Legolas, raising her eyebrows. He reluctantly hands over ten arrows, but keeps one as a last resort in case the Witch-King tries to kill anyone later on. Kayla doesn't notice, luckily. Instead, she approaches Aragorn, even though he was entirely uninvolved.

"Give 'em up, whatever you have," she demands. He hands her the dagger he smuggled into the game.

"You're good," he compliments her grudgingly.

"I know I am," she replies, smirking and making Jessica want to punch her in the face. "I know my Tolkienology."

"The challenge?" the producer whispers impatiently.

"Oh, right you are, good sir," Jessica says cheerfully, obviously trying to get the attention back on herself. "Éowyn, next time you really should keep your mouth shut and save us all this trouble." The stubborn shield-maiden decides to obey, despite the fact that she is indeed what I just wrote. Let's not talk about this though, since I technically don't exist in this story. I'll be one of the fanatics with my eyes glued to the screen and having the time of my life. And I'll give myself a hypo-allergenic kitten to pet and, umm, how about some candy canes? Oh, and I'm sitting with any of my friends who are crazy enough to be watching this show. There, now I exist and I'm happy, so we can move on.

Ummm… this is a really awkward spot to start from. Let's see…

"I'm hungry," Pippin complains, just cuz I want him to. Poor bloke. He isn't even allowed to control his own vocal chords. Of course, he never _really_ could. It was always either Tolkien or Peter Jackson or Billy Boyd. And now me. And all of you who have ever written Pippin stories, or at least the words, 'Pippin said, "I am me."' Okay, I really have to stop killing time here before Lu-Tze eats me alive with custard. Wow, there were two jokes in that last sentence that are impossible to get both of unless you're me, cuz I don't know anyone else who knows both _Thief of Time _and my brother's friend Wesley's joke about his cat. Except _maybe_ my brother.

Wow, I don't even take my own advice. I'm going to get back to the show and end it before I waste another whole page.

"I missed second breakfast," Pippin continues.

"Please shut up," Jessica replies cheerfully. "Anyway, if you'd let me finish explaining… In this challenge you'll need to know a lot about your fellow survivors. I'll read –"

"Cut! We're out of time!" the producer calls out. Jessica's jaw drops.

"What!? You can't just –" she starts.

But apparently they can, because the cameraman shuts off the camera and the credits roll, to the dismay of me and everyone else watching who wanted to see a challenge. Boo-hoo.


	9. Episode 9: Continuing On

Disclaimer: I don't seem to have inherited Tolkien's life's work in the past months since I updated this story, so I still own nothing of good old Arda. I also have not taken over the Survivor show, which is probably for the best.

Apology: Sorry I haven't updated this for a full year. The fact that I got a review only a few months ago is very cool and appreciated, albeit unexpected. I have been re-inspired… again… to write this story, so we'll see how it goes. Here it is at long last: (drumroll) the next chapter. I hope you enjoy.

:ii:

Episode 9: Continuing On…

:ii:

"As I was saying," Jessica continues the next day, glaring resentfully at someone off-screen, "for this challenge, you'll have to know a lot about your fellow survivors. I'll call out your name and ask a question. If you get it wrong, you're out of the game. If you get it right, your tribe gets a point and you get another question. The questions get harder and harder as you answer more correctly. Some of the questions only apply to maybe one of you in some stupid, obscure way, but between all of you, you know all the answers. Too bad you can't ask each other for help, huh? Anyway, do you guys get it?"

They nod solemnly.

"Super! I bet you can tell I didn't write that little speech myself, but who cares! Woohoo! I love these challenges where I get to be part of it! Whoever gets the most points by the end has immunity! 'Kay? Begin!"

The survivors stand there rather awkwardly and wait for her to ask a question, while the hostess waits for them to do goodness knows what.

"Oh! Oh yeah! Like duh! Sorry. Okay… The first question goes to Merry of Tier-firn. Who here has a father named Drogo?"

"Oh, that's an easy one. Frodo."

"Woo-hoo! Score! One point for Tier-firn! And now, which person here lived in Aman?"

The hobbit cocks his head to the side and asks, "What's that?"

"Can't tell ya. Not _allowed_." She says the last word like it's something mystical.

"Uh, okay. Let's guess… Legolas."

"Nope, you are the weakest link. Goodbye." Jessica cracks up. "Sorry. I always wanted to say that. Merry, you go sit down over there on the side. Now, the remaining people get a chance to answer. Your team each has a little square thing with a button, right?"

Legolas and Aragorn nod.

"Once someone in your tribe knows the answer, press the button to buzz in. Got it?"

She gets a small sea of nods.

"Okay. Starting… now!"

CHIRP-CHIRP!

Tier-firn jumps at the sound that shrieks from their buzzer's speakers. It sounds like a goliath cricket on a megaphone.

"Yes?" Jessica asks, all oblivious innocence.

"Me," Galadriel replies boredly.

"Correct! Two for Tier-firn! Zero for Alcarinquë and my boyfriend!"

Legolas glares at her, but eventually decides she's not worth getting upset over.

"Next question goes to Éowyn. Who did Aragorn marry?"

She joins the Elven prince in glaring at the hostess, suspecting that this question coming to her isn't a coincidence.

"Arwen."

"Super!" She finally notices that her "Blondie" heroes both seem to hate her, and gives them an academy-award-winning pout. "Chill, guys, okie dokie? Next question, Éowyn. What does 'namarië' mean?"

"What? That's Elvish."

"Like duh."

"Would you stop saying that?" the shield maiden asks through gritted teeth.

"What? 'Like duh'? Why?"

"Never mind."

Éowyn stops arguing to think.

"I remember you used that word on the first day… but you never actually told us what it meant… oh, wait… Does it mean 'farewell'?"

"Ding ding ding! Good job! Now what was King Théoden's father's name? Tough one, huh?"

"Not when that same person is your grandfather. It's Thengel."

"Ooh, you're on a roll. Now, which Elf ruled the city of Gondolin?"

Éowyn doesn't reply.

"Do you know it?" Jessica prompts.

"I have no idea. I might as well not even guess."

"Let's open it up to the tribes… now!"

CHIRP-CHIRP!

Tier-firn cheers.

"Turgon," Galadriel answers matter-of-factly.

"Woohoo! Good job, I'm impressed! And hat adds up to three for each tribe. Éowyn, I'm sorry, but you're out."

She sits down next to her vertically-challenged Rohirrim buddy off to the side.

"Next up, we have Galadriel. What language is the inscription on the Ring written in?"

"The runes or the words?"

"Words," Kayla clarifes from off-screen.

Jessica sticks her tongue out at her rival.

"The Black Speech," Galadriel replies.

"Wow, not bad, but that _was_ the easy one. Who was the steward of Gondor during the War of the Ring?"

"Lord Denethor."

"Bravo! Next question: how old was Bilbo Baggins when he set out on his journey with Gandalf and a bunch of dwarves with way-too-similar names?"

"Fifty."

"'Way too similar names'?" Kayla repeats, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, that's what it says on the card," Jessica retorts defensively. "Now, Galadriel, what does Andúril mean?"

"Flame of the West."

"Okay, correct. Who was the first Dark Lord before he became a Dark Lord?"

"A Vala named Melkor."

"Man, you're the smartest blonde I ever met!"

This questioning continues for a painfully long time until Galadriel finally guesses Tolkien's middle names wrong. Yes, she got up to that difficulty level.

"So that makes twenty-two for Tier-firn and three for Alcarinquë. Geez, you guys are getting _whomped_! And first off, I wanna know how Galadriel knows the entire history of Middle-earth."

"I have been alive for nearly all of it," she replies simply, with her quiet grace. "And my mirror showed me much that I would not have otherwise known."

"Cheater. No, I'm just kidding. You can go sit down. Next we have Frodo."

Frodo does well, though not nearly as well as Galadriel. He even guesses correctly that the Maia Olórin is Gandalf. However, the eleventh question stumps him.

"Which flies farther: a Mordor orc's arrow, or a Moria orc's arrow?"

The hobbit scratches his head.

"That isn't fair. Who would ever need to know that?"

"Hey, _I_ didn't write these," Jessica reminds him, holding up her hands.

"Well, I'll guess Moria."

"Sorry, it's a Mordor orc's arrow. Please have a seat in the loser squad. The score is now twenty-two to thirteen."

The game continues, and it even looks like Alcarinquë can make a come-back. Until Gandalf's turn, that is. The final score is fifty-one to twenty-six.

"Good job, my Road-killians! Alcarinquë, you have to come to tribal council again."

Everyone in their tribe glances not so surreptitiously at the Witch-King. Not one of them likes him even slightly.

"Well, better hit the road again. Our next challenge will have a twist, so remember that! Alkies, I'll meet you at the door into Moria tonight. Buh-byesies!"

:ii:

(So, that wasn't the most exciting chapter, but these challenges sort of need to happen. Anyway, the next two chapters are better, and I hope to post them SOON.)


	10. Chapter 10: Alcarinque Day 7

Epsidode 10

Alcarinquë Day 7

After the Immunity Challenge

"I think I may have seen a fruit tree in the forest back there. Frodo, Arwen, follow me for a moment."

Legolas motions them into a small grove of what resemble dead Christmas trees more than any kind of fruit-bearing plant. Arwen, knowing that Elves aren't nearly that ignorant about forestry, shoots him a bewildered glance.

Pulling them closer, Legolas whispers, "We need to talk about tribal council."

You can almost see the word _Ohhh…_ sink into Frodo's and Arwen's brains.

"Last time," the Elf goes on, "I voted for Gollum along with Sam, but I think we really ought to get rid of the Nazgûl before anyone dies."

"I'm with you on that one," Frodo agrees. "I'll tell Sam and Sméagol."

Legolas trades a surreptitious glance with Arwen before saying, "No. Not Gollum. Just… talk to Sam. We know he, at least, can be trusted. Arwen, I'm assigning you to tell Éowyn. It would be too suspicious if I saw more phantom food."

They quickly return to the others, who have been waiting in edgy anticipation, trying to figure out whether a little bit of fruit is worth getting smashed into a pulp by a Ringwraith. They're pretty sure the undead don't eat, but who really wants to take the chance?

"Sorry. I was wrong," Legolas apologizes, hardly needing to act since he feels awful for getting their hopes up.

"No…" Sam groans. "I would kill for some taters right about now…"

"So would I," Frodo agrees.

Sam glances over at Gollum for a moment too long, then back at Frodo.

"Let's eat _him._"

"No!" Frodo protests, a little too quickly. Seeing all eyes suddenly on himself, he adds, "He may be despicable, but it's still cannibalism. There's nothing but skin and bones on him anyhow."

Éowyn looks skeptical.

"It's hardly cannibalism. He resembles a frog more than anything else."

Gollum hisses angrily, glaring at each of them in turn.

"We ought to be eating the hobbitses… Ssso fat and juicy…."

"You can't tell me that's not disturbing," Sam says, pulling Frodo aside.

"That's why he has a horse all to himself," Frodo reminds him. "Don't worry, Sam, I'm not saying I trust him."

"Good." Then in a whisper, Sam adds, "Vote him off."

Frodo shakes his head, and says even more quietly, "No, we're voting for the Nazgûl. It's already been decided."

Sam almost objects, but he sees in Frodo's eyes that the Witch-king's presence still causes him a considerable amount of pain, and decides for his master's sake that it's probably better this way.

Even if it means Gollum gets off easy yet again.

Tribal Council—West Moria Gate

"Hey guys! Glad to be back?" Jessica greets Alcarinquë cheerfully, somehow failing to notice that they're all staring fearfully at the lake behind them.

"No," Sam replies. "What kind of a question is that?"

"A polite one. Now, have a seat and let's talk."

They all sit down with their backs against the side of the steep cliff-face. Even Legolas decides he'd rather sit within a mile of Jessica than be eaten by a kraken.

But only barely.

"Super! So, who thinks they're gonna get voted off?"

Not one hand goes up.

"Okay… who thinks someone hates their guts?"

Sam, Gollum, and Éowyn raise their hands. After several not-so-subtle glances from every single person in the room, camera crew included, the Witch-King also raises his iron-gloved hand.

"So it's probably one of you guys then, don't you think?"

"Is that a threat?" the Nazgûl hisses, drawing his sword.

"Hey! We already took that away!" the hostess yelps.

"Obviously, he has another one," Legolas points out.

The Ringwraith suddenly swings his blade at Jessica's platinum-blonde head, but Legolas does a complicated move to divert the attack. The security guys take action now that they think it might be slightly safer. They all jump on the Witch-King's back, and since there are twenty of them now, they succeed in tackling him. Strangely, nobody thinks to grab one of the tiki-torches, even though fire is just about the only thing proven to work against the Ringwraiths. Oh well.

Jessica just gapes at Legolas.

"You saved my life!"

Looking away, he says reluctantly, "I noticed."

"Well, yeah, I… but..." she stutters, "I thought you hated me!"

"There is no one who walks this earth that I hate enough to allow them to be killed by one of the Nazgûl."

She blinks.

"I think I'll just take that as a compliment," she says to herself. "So anywhoooo, let's vote now, okie-day?"

"Could you maybe speak normally?" Sam asks.

"Umm, heck no. Legolas, you're up first." She sits back, takes out a bottle of "death-by-bubblegum" pink nail polish, and starts painting her nails while she waits.

They all vote, cool music, suspense, la dee da, and Jessica reads the votes off.

"One vote for the Witch-King."

To the shock of everyone who automatically flinches, the hooded figure shows no reaction.

"…One vote for Legolas."

The Elf sits up straighter. Is that the Nazgûl's vote, or is he being betrayed?

"…Another for the Witch-King. And…" Jessica tilts her head back and rolls her eyes upward in an exasperated-supermodel-y pose. "Kayla, get over here."

Kayla smirks and obeys.

"It says," the younger girl announces, milking the moment for more poor cows than it could ever be worth, "'the Ringwraith'."

"Yeah. I prob'ly coulda guessed that," Jessica quips irritably as she reaches for the next slip of paper. Her face screws itself up into a pretty pout. "Ugh. Read this one too."

"It says, 'Witchy'."

"Oh, how cute! My nickname for him! Ooh, I love nicknames!" Jessica squeals, all bad attitude instantly forgotten.

"Okay, we have enough freaks here without you becoming one," Kayla says, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sorry, I know what you mean," Jessica agrees.

"I was actually talking to the cameraman. He was imitating you."

Jessica just nods, before the insult finally sinks in.

"Hey! You meanie! I'm not a freak!"

The Alcarinquë tribe laughs hysterically.

"You know what? You're _all _meanies! Do you want me to read these votes or not?"

"Not particularly," Sam replies.

"Well, I'm going to anyways. So shut up. Okay, the next vote is for the—"

"Um, a question if you don't mind: How can it say 'Witchy' if it's in Elvish?" Frodo interrupts. "The previous one, I mean."

"Do I look like a dictionary to you? No, I didn't think so. So can we please just get on with this before Christmas comes?"

Too late, she remembers they've never heard of Christmas.

"Oh, I'm going to need sooo much candy when this show is over…" she mumbles to herself, massaging her temples. Slowly, she regains her composure and tries once again to read the vote she just finished crumpling in her hand during her minor breakdown.

"Okay. This vote is for the Witch-King. That makes four. Four is more than half of seven, right?"

She sees the look of diabolically pleased disbelief on Kayla's face and takes that as her answer.

"Witchy, the tribe has spoken. Bring me your torch. Security guys, let him up."

They do, and the Ringwraith abruptly draws another sword.

"Man, how did he get through the metal detector without it going off?" Kayla wonders aloud.

"It uh… mysteriously malfunctioned that day," someone on the crew admits sheepishly.

Seeing that no one is taking action, Éowyn sneaks up behind the Witch-King and pries the sword from his hand.

He takes another one out.

"How many do you have?" Jessica cries out in shock, subtly inching farther away even though that would be entirely useless if he actually meant to kill her.

"I did have nine, but now I only have six."

"Security! Or preferably the Secret Service… It would be really nice if you'd do something right about now… Otherwise we're all gonna die… And I don't wanna die…" Jessica calls to no one in particular, nervously combing her hair with her fingers and noticing belatedly that her nails are still drying.

But all the security people were nowhere to be seen, all of them either on the way to request more back-up or a large raise in their salaries.

Eventually, one short guy with a purple Mohawk and thirteen earrings in one ear shows up.

"You're the only one?" Jessica asks, confused.

"Fear not! I am a white-belt, and I shall accomplish with flying colors all that you can ask!" he announces proudly.

"Ooh, does that mean you know karate?" she asks, intrigued enough to forget about the rather immediate threat.

"Well, almost. Sort of. I suppose you could interpret it that way, if you like," he replies nervously, which might as well mean 'no'.

"And why flying colors? That's lame. How 'bout flying pink parakeets?"

"Sure," he says, and then regains his former bravado. "I shall succeed with flying pink parakeets!"

"Super! If this guy dressed in all icky black robes tries to kill anyone with his six swords, stop him. 'Kay?"

"What!"

"You know, do some cool-looking kung-fu." Jessica does a very bad impression of a karate chop, which looks a lot more like someone petting a cabbage with three broken fingers.

"But… I'm not in kung-fu. I'm in Wado-kai. And I just started."

Jessica finally starts to get suspicious. "What do you mean 'just started'? Like when?"

"Umm, let's see… maybe five minutes ago? Five and a half? All I can do so far is step and punch."

"Oh. Well that's still more than I could learn in a lifetime," she laughs, somehow reassured by that answer. "So please be quiet now and get ready now. I'm gonna tell him he's voted off the show."

The poor guy starts sweating.

"Witchy-worth Bobkins the Third, the tribe has officially spoken."

Jessica grabs his torch herself and blows it out before the Ringwraith has time to process the highly strange name she called him.

"Bye-bye!" she calls, only after running and hiding behind a couple rows of camera crew.

Then the Witch-King screams.

It sends chills shooting up the spines of everyone within earshot, and there's a weird little blurb where the guy holding the microphone tries to plug one of his ears with it.

Finally, the rest of the security guys come back armed with machine guns and flamethrowers, and the Ringwraith decides he should probably go.

There's a collective sigh of relief as his black cloak that somehow eerily doesn't swish fades into the shadows of the hallway Boromir was sent down last time.

Then Alcarinquë heads back to their adorable snoring horsies.

THE END!

(No, not of the whole thing. I just thought it was a more melodramatic end to a chapter.)

Who Voted For Who:

(Sponsored by the Guacamole Pillow Foundation)

FrodoWitch-King

SamWitch-King

LegolasWitch-King

ÉowynWitch-King

ArwenWitch-King

GollumSam

Witch-KingÉowyn


End file.
